


Backstab

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, idk how to tag the relationships whoops, spy AU, this is a multichapter thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-08 20:09:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4318233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First off, most other spies he had met had colourful personalities. They weren’t your typical “James Bond” or “Mission Impossible”. They were just plain people with a little quirk here and there. It made his life more interesting that’s for sure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Opening

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Prumery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prumery/gifts).



Quiet; calm; cool. Three words he would love to describe himself with. Love being the word. He was the complete opposite of it. He was loud, he was impulsive and he was definitely not cool to say the least. He was what we would call “dorky”. Who had ever heard of a dorky spy? Usually in the movies they’re all suave and cool. They always get the girl with the hot body. They always end up on top.

That wasn’t the case. _At all_.

First off, most other spies he had met had colourful personalities. They weren’t your typical “James Bond” or “Mission Impossible”. They were just plain people with a little quirk here and there. It made his life more interesting that’s for sure.

Second off, he got the boy. That’s right. He was hella gay as fuck. He’s met more people who were gay than straight. In a sense the token straight was quite rare in this career option. Out of dozens of highly qualified killers, he only knew one that was straight. A lot were of other sexualites than gay. Some even differed in gender identity! In this domain of work, the only thing that mattered was your skill set. That’s why Alfred loved it so much.

It was so nice; he really had to admit it and his partner. Oh his partner. Gilbert was the best thing he had ever had. For one he could cook. Like not burn down the house type of cook, god bless his soul. He was also really good at planning, compared to Alfred who had a thing for the spontaneous.

One of the many things they enjoyed doing together, was paintball. It was a great stress reliever. Another being sex. Paintball had a fun side to it, I mean who doesn’t love taking out your rage and aggression against homophobic soccer moms by shooting at other people? It was great! He and Gil were often on the same teams. Gil would plan the attack and Al would execute. They were a force to be reckoned with. 

On rainy days they would spend time in their small apartment watching movies of different genres. Gil had a thing for this one movie director, he couldn’t really remember the name, but it was German and the movies were filled with gore. All had to say, he had a weak spot for rom-coms. Dare he say it, he loved the corny and cliché.

Nothing was greater than the cover he kept with his boyfriend. Nothing could be greater than the life he had.

 

It was a lazy Sunday when he received the call. It wasn’t much he had to say. It seemed like an every day order. ‘Kill this [z] at [x] event’. Seemed like another ordinary workday he had to say so himself.  He packed his satchel and went over to kiss Gilbert goodbye before saying he had been called for last minute analysis of someone’s house. Gil bought it, albeit sceptically.

He gave him a peek on the lips and left the house. It wasn’t much, but it was the reaffirmation that he would be back later and that this was nothing serious.

 It was nothing serious.

 He gripped the strap of his satchel tighter. It was nothing serious. He was great. This was just another clean up the loose ends mission. It wasn’t to be too difficult or anything.

 

It wasn’t a shindig or anything special like that. It was just a gathering of what seemed to be very elderly people. He placed himself among the attendees, a way to make his target’s visibility easier. The only real information he had on his target was ‘you’ll know who he is when you see him’. That was some really trivial information, but he couldn’t really complain much. He would see the target when he saw him. He gazed around the room. No one stood out. Where exactly would his target be?

He sat himself down at one of the many tables and listened to the speech being given. He wasn’t really listening. It was of no real valour to him, he was only here for one reason. His reason wasn’t here it seemed. He sighed and drank some water. He felt like it was going to be a long night. He honestly wished he could be back at home with Gilbert.

A gunshot fired. It missed him; it was more of a warning shot. He dropped his glass and pulled out his gun looking for the shooter. Was this his target? Was this happening? He flipped the table over to make a makeshift cover. He peeked his head out slightly, but it was in vain as a bullet was coming his way. He pulled back into cover before it hit him.

‘ _This is going to be longer than expected’_ , he thought to himself as an onslaught of bullets hit the table. He prayed the table wasn’t mahogany or someone would have his head.

It felt like an hour before the shooter stopped and he was left with a bunch of cowering attendees. Had he left? Just great. He picked up his belongings and left. It wasn’t like he had much to do anymore. Time to go home and order take-out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My attempt to make sad fanfics grows by the day. Worse awaits I'm gonna finish this multichapter, hopefully.


	2. Respiratory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From what Al had heard, Gil was having some trouble with some of the research he was doing. Gil was a history researcher. He would go through papers and make essays about different time periods in universities or museums. It was a long job, but it was a job he liked.

He was reading a book when he entered the apartment. He hung his satchel on the coat rack when Gil looked up to him with a curious glance. Al shrugged.  There wasn’t much to it. All he said that he fell while evaluating the terrain. Gil could only laugh.

“Anyway what do you want for supper?” Asked Gil as he closed his book, “ And don’t give me the ‘you’. That’s dessert.” He responded knowingly. Al grinned before sitting down on the sofa with Gil. He pulled out a menu that lay hidden underneath the coffee table. It was a pamphlet with a bunch of restaurant menus on them. It made selection a lot easier.

They spent a while contemplating before caving in for pizza. They weren’t in the mood for a fancy meal, plus they could just watch movies as they ate the pizza. It seemed like a win-win after a long week.

From what Al had heard, Gil was having some trouble with some of the research he was doing. Gil was a history researcher. He would go through papers and make essays about different time periods in universities or museums. It was a long job, but it was a job he liked.

He remembered this one time he had come home completely dirty because books had fallen all over him. Al couldn’t help laughing when he saw him walk through the front door, a complete mess. He sighed. Gil honestly didn’t know his real job, probably never will. He enjoyed these moments of peace they had. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep him grounded.

The next day came like a stabbing knife. It was painful waking up, but he still did so. Gilbert must have already left for work. He yawned and stretched his muscles. Walking out of their small bedroom, he noticed a note and some coffee on the table set out for him.

‘ _Hey Eagle, sorry about the early departure, I got a call from one of my co-workers about some new finds! I’ll be back once I’m done_. –White Haired Anime Boyfriend’.

Al smiled fondly and picked up the coffee. It was still somewhat warm, which meant that Gil had left recently. He took a sip. It was bitter, just how he liked it. His phone beeped. Who would be texting him? He went on a search for his phone, which he found on the counter near the fridge. He read over the text. He reread it. He frowned. Seemed like this mission was going to take much longer than he had initially expected. He sighed. Pulling out a pad of pen, he wrote down a note for Gil.

‘ _Hey Whitey, I got to head out too. I don’t know when I’ll be back, this being a big project, I’ll call you when I have more details when I’ll be able to return_. –Eagle’.

He pulled off the note. He placed it on the table without further thought. He finished his coffee before placing it in the dishwasher and getting dressed. He went to pick up his satchel from the coat rack deciding it was best to head out now. He gave one last look to his apartment. He left.

 

It wasn’t much of an afternoon. He questioned why he was seated in a café, but hey, the coffee was good and so were the pastries. He searched out the window. There wasn’t much going on, he had to say so himself. It was quiet, kind of boring to him. He took a sip of his coffee. Something caught his eye. Someone with white hair… Was Gil here? Maybe he was on a lunch break. This was more of a food district, so there was that as a possibility. Maybe a co-worker had decide to take him out for lunch? He smiled. He hoped he was having fun.

30 minutes seemed to have passed. He was wondering how long before anything would happen. He wanted to be in and out. He wanted it to be done pronto. He drank another sip from his cup.

He finally gave up with a huff of annoyance. He paid the waitress, leaving her a favourable tip. She had been nice enough to him, even joked around. All in all: nice service.

He exited to café with a whistle on his lips. It was a monotone afternoon. Purely average. He felt a yawn hit him. Covering his yawn with his mouth, he continued on his walk. Soon rain started to hit his head. He cursed running for cover. It seemed to be storm.  He brushed off his shirt with the water that had accumulated. He hope he wouldn’t get soaked.

He stiffened when he felt a presence behind him. Before he could defend himself, the assailant blocked his respiratory canals. He kicked him hard in the nuts, which gave him a small room to pull out a gun and start firing at him. The assailant moved further back. He realized he was corned in this area. He made a move to the left before running off.

Al clutched his throat before looking around him. What just happened?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heh sorry if this chapter seems bad idk i don't like writing multichapters that much anymore because i end up leaving them to die so i feel like i lost my pacing with these.


	3. No return

When he came back home, Gilbert was nowhere to be seen. He was probably still out with co-workers. Not much he could really do about it. He’d probably give him a call later to check up on him, see if he was still alright.

 

He took off his sneakers, placing him in the corner of the front hall, somewhat in a mess. He prayed Gil wouldn’t notice. He walked over to the kitchen, pulled out the most junkiest, empty calorie filled meal he could think off, plopped himself in front of the TV and decided to watch a kid’s movie. He didn’t care. Kids movies were great!

 

About halfway into it he got, yet again, another phone call. What exactly now? He checked the caller ID wondering who it was. It was Gilbert. He relaxed as he took the call.

 

“Hey Whitey, how’s it going?” He asked joyfully.

 

“Alfred,” from than he knew something serious had occurred. Gilbert never called him Alfred. Yes, Al, but not _Alfred,_ if he did, it meant something serious had happened. “I don’t think I’ll be able to make it home anytime soon, this project we’re working on, it… it’s taking a lot longer than expected. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” With that he hung up.

 

Alfred looked to his phone confused. Rubbing his head, he shut if off and placed it back into his pocket. Before he could even dream of returning to his movie, he had to take a pee break. The blather wouldn’t hold forever. It was in the bathroom that he had noticed the other note Gil had left him.

 

‘If you can, please meet me at the pier, tomorrow at 12pm –W.H. A. B.’

 

He flipped the note over; a small ‘goodbye’ was scribbled on the back of it. _Goodbye, why goodbye?_

 

He started hearing a beeping sound. Oh god no. He slowly turned his head over to where the sound was coming from. The bathtub. It was coming from the bathtub. He rapidly reached for the shower curtain. That’s when his breath got in his throat. A bomb. _A motherfucking bomb was in his bathtub. There was only 3 minutes left and he needed to evacuate the building._

He hastily ran for the door. Screw his coat. He quickly put on the easiest pair of shoes in the front door step, crocs, and went straight for the fire alarm. If he pulled it, people would quickly evacuate the building.

 

He was lucky it was only a small apartment complex because when the bomb went off, the whole building went down with it. He watched on sadly as the building crumpled in smoke and flames.

 

He looked at the scrunched up note in his hands. What was wrong with Gil? Was he set up? Was he in danger?

 

He recalled the phone call he had received. He had sounded tense and scared. This was a serious matter. Had… had Gil been kidnapped? He felt as if his heart was ripped out of his chest.

 

He had to go to the pier tomorrow. He needed to make sure Gil was okay. He gave one last look to the burning building the firemen were putting out. He tightened his balled hands.

 

_No return._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you can hear me, if you can see me, than what am I?


	4. Coda

It was a bitter night on the street. It was a bit frigid sleeping on a park bench because your apartment complex had exploded. He felt bitter about that bath bomb, he felt bitter about the weather, but most of all: he was worried about Gilbert.

 

He had called his people, telling him his location had been compromised, his lover kidnapped and no place to sleep in. They explained they would think of something and send someone his way. The park is where they would have the best chance of a rendezvous.

 

It was past midnight when he felt the tap on his shoulder. He thought it was the feds so he had prepared to run, but in reality it was a feminine looking person. They had long blonde hair and purple eyes; somewhat reminiscent of another spy he had dealt with a long time ago. They seemed to be holding a parcel.

 

“Are you Eagle?” they asked, they didn’t seem to amused to be here. He nodded his head. They slammed the parcel on his chest before swiftly leaving. Al gave her an odd look before looking into the parcel. Clothes, cash, a couple of fake passports, a bit of ammunition, a gun and a note, _leave now_.

 

He rubbed the tiredness out of his eyes before scrunching up the note and tearing it up. He wouldn’t be leaving without Gilbert. He needed to cut all the ends of this other spy before any other of his loved ones were harmed. No loose ends anymore. It needed to be cleaned. He yawned and lay himself back to rest on the bench.

 

He needed to be in shape for tomorrow. For tomorrow the grim reaper weeps.

 

 

The morning hit him with a dull light. Sleeping in the park didn’t do great on his back either. It was cold to the touch. He stretched his muscles before moving on to his next location, the pier. He had decided his best bet at this point in time, was to get some breakfast there and stake it out.

 

It wasn’t crowded, of course it wouldn’t be. A motto of spies is, “Innocents before kills”, which summed down to: don’t fucking kill civilians if it can be helped. Too many families lost before this mantra was put into action, too many to grieve, too much revenge.

 

He waited for hours, drinking coffee, eating pastries in the dinner. He watched every passer-by, hoping that maybe he could get the lead on the spy: hoping he could end this quick before it was even time. He felt nervous and most of all he felt sick to his stomach, but he needed to eat.

 

The noon bell chimed. He noticed through the window of the shop, Gilbert hastily making his way towards the pier. Was this a trap or? He knew much better than this. He left some money for his food and the tip. Least he could do really, before zooming out the door in hot pursuit of his lover.

Gilbert looked onto the water, not really seeming to take notice of his surroundings. It wasn’t much to say. It was just water. It would be cold water. It would be salt water. It would be blood water. A voice picked him out of his musings, someone calling his name.

 

“Gil, hey Gil!” he turned around slowly. Al was approaching him. He suddenly stopped when he noticed what he was holding. _A gun._ “Gil, you don’t have to do this, we can escape your kidnappers together and live free under a new identity just-” Gil, raising his hand in a motion for him to stop speaking, cutting him off.

 

“Al, I’ve had enough of the lies. I need to be honest with you,” He dropped his shoulders and relaxed, “I’m here to kill you. Clean up loose ends… I just thought… I never knew the charade would end so soon… I just…” he kept mumbling to himself. He seemed distracted, his thoughts all over the place. He couldn’t seem to keep track of the words he wanted to spill out, wanted to confide with Alfred.

 

“Gil, you don’t have to do this, your captors don’t control you,” had Alfred still not caught it? Gil snorted.

 

“Captors?” he laughed, but it sounded nervous, “Eagle, _I am the captor_.”

 

It felt like a brick had hit him in the face. It started clicking into place, why Gilbert had been there when he was attacked, why he was apologizing on the phone and the message in the bathroom. It made sense.  He didn’t want to believe it though.

 

All that time he had spent with Gilbert, was it a charade as he said? He shook his head in determination. One could not fake love for so, _so long_. Alfred swallowed hard, tightened his fists, took a deep breath of air and spoke.

 

“All this time, was our love just a joke to you?” He noticed how Gil almost dropped the gun, how his stance had faltered, how he had this hurt look in his eyes. That was all the answer he really needed. He opened up his stance for Gilbert. He had no ill intentions. He had no real reason to kill. He wouldn’t go through with the order. This was it. This was his limit. He would take no more.

 

He retook his stance, albeit his hand was trembling. He looked like he was about to cry; those words had hit deep, scared wounds on his heart reopened. He didn’t want to go through with the order. He wanted to run away. To be free, _but one cannot escape the system_.

 

Alfred voice is soft when he reaches out to him; he seems nostalgic for a reason, as well as empathetic.

 

“We can stop here you know, “ he smiles to Gilbert, bot still holding eye contact, “that we can runway together, escape all of this, me and you,” he took steps forward. Gilbert reinforced the arm that had the gun pointed on Alfred, warning him that one more step would merit a bullet through him.  He wouldn’t hesitate. He was crying now. His arm still trembled with the crushing weight of his emotions.

 

“There’s another option,” Alfred spoke fondly. Gilbert shook his head furiously at him.

 

“There is no other way!” He screamed at the top of his lungs.

 

“But there is!” Insisted Alfred. He took another step forward.

 

“You can’t escape the system!” Gilbert started rambling off, “You can never escape the system!” at this point he started yelling, “Once in, there’s never an out! You’ll always be found, there’s not other way!” he seemed frantic, he wanted to let go of the gun. He was scared; he was terrified. He had heard terrible stories about spies who turned away from his network. How they were always found dead once rogue. He didn’t want to risk it.

 

Al continued to approach him slowly, his arms outstretched showing he was harmless, he had no gun; he was no threat. Gil screamed to him to stand back or he would shoot. It wasn’t a bluff.

 

He continued his march forward; his motion was outstretched to embrace him within a hug. “I trust you,” he whispered to Gil. A smile on his face as he felt a warm sensation overcome his chest, “and I’ll always love you, no matter what.” It wasn’t long before his limp body fell to the concrete.

 

“I-I told you I would shoot,” Gilbert whispered in a frightened tone. He dropped the gun, staring at his blood stained hands: the hands of a cold-blooded killer. His whole body trembled and he fell to his knees. He looked to his dirty hands; the hands who killed many; the hands who spilled blood; the hands of someone who killed his lover on the order of another.

 

“You can’t escape the system…” he whispered to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can't escape the system, a reaper weeps.


	5. Epilogue

He looked to his bloodstained hands. Weeks had passed. Maybe months. He felt numb. He burned all the pictures, erased every single trace of him. He was first and foremost an agent. His personal life no longer mattered to him. All he was yet another pawn on the board to be moved around whimsically, killing as need be.

 

Since then he felt a ghost over his shoulder. His sins haunting with every step he took. Everywhere he went he felt like someone had been looking at him, breathing down his neck. He felt paranoid. It’s as if Al was still here, watching him. He couldn’t drive the feeling away, the feeling was persistent, as if it was trying to reassure him of something, _something he couldn’t grasp_. _Something he still had difficulty he himself could barely comprehend_.

 

The funeral had been small; he made himself distant from the people who actually mattered to him: his brother Alfred, his adoptive parents, his sister Malika and a couple of very close friends. He didn’t belong. Why had he showed up, he shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be at the funeral for the one he murdered. He shouldn’t dare lay a foot in this cemetery. He shivered when he felt as if someone was breathing down his neck. He needed to be out of here. He couldn’t stand another minute of this. He felt like he was going to break down and cry. Why?

 

During other missions he felt numb, his senses were lacking, he felt like he was being drained. Every day was even more of a hassle for him to get out of bed. It was as if chains were holding him down, dragging him deeper and deeper into a slumber of numbness. His adoptive brother was getting worried. He would often leave calls wondering if he needed any help, he had a friend who was psychologist if he needed to speak to one. He would always turn it down.

 

He didn’t really need help; all he really needed was time. The numbness though, seemed to be infinite. It got worse as the days went on. Often he thought God was looking down at him, laughing at him from high above. “The reaper of souls”, God would laugh, “wanders aimlessly, the sins of his past dragging him deeper into the depths of darkness”.

 

He often felt that he was dragging his feet nowadays. His eyes grew sleeper, dark circles could be found under them. He could no longer sleep a wink. He would dream that Al was coming back from the water, attempting to drag him down into the depths. He would wake up in a panic every time. Every time the dream made him cry. He didn’t want to speak out. He bared everything with a grin and when no one was looking he would cry.

 

The more and more missions he took to forget, the more the world felt like it was blending together into one large monochrome cookie-cut. What was the routine now? Kill, kill, and kill. That’s all he seemed useful for honestly. His abilities may have been going on the rusty side, but the knife could still stab. He wondered how long until it would break.

 

It was really only a matter of time till the knife’s blade dulled out and rusted. When the time came to rid of the knife, a nicer, newer and sharper one was to replace it. Gilbert seemed to be no better than that knife.

 

It seemed like his time had run thin. He laughed to himself. He burst out laughing in the middle of a gunfight. He might have been bleeding to death, but what was the irony? What was it? He was so flimsical and replaceable. There was no out of the system, but the system could easily out you! He laughed so hard he started coughing up blood. It’s not like anyone really cared about him anymore to begin with. What was a knife if it’s blade had become warn and dull?

 

No one seemed interested in getting him medical attention it seemed. Not like he didn’t understand though. He was a weak link. When a link gets weak you replace it with a stronger one. It was his time. He couldn’t blame them really. In all honesty, he considered himself ‘collateral damage’.

 

He closed his eyes, hoping that when he passed, he could see all again.

 

An enemy gunman took pity on him. He could feel the cold metal on his head. He muttered a gurgled ‘Thank you’ before everything went black.


End file.
